


Demon's Fun.

by BarPurple



Series: Deca'verse Additional [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Language, Original Character Death(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just Demon Dean howling at the moon a bit with Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon's Fun.

**Author's Note:**

> At the start of Chapter 4 in Your Time Is Gonna Come, Dean mentions that he and Crowley had just returned from a visit to Earth.
> 
> This is where they had been and what they were doing.

The bar was a dive; in fact calling it that insulted every dive hole in the wall bar in the country. This was the sort of place you wiped your feet on the way out so as not to dirty up the piss soaked alley that joined the bar to the main street.

This place didn’t have a name; if you knew it was there you either ignored it, or you’d fallen so low it was the only choice you had to get drunk somewhere that wasn’t the gutter, although the gutter was still a classier choice in Crowley’s opinion. It didn’t surprise the King of Hell that this was where the local vampire nest hung out. They hadn’t even had to scare the regulars away; the clientele here would turn a blind eye to any strange or illegal behaviour as long as the same courtesy was extended to them. And if the a few regular faces looked a bit pale, or disappeared altogether then who the hell would care? 

The music didn’t stop as Dean and Crowley walked in, but there were a significant number of shifty glances in their direction. He’d never admit it, but Crowley was feeling uneasy. The vampires weren’t a problem and the dregs of humanity that collected here were beneath his notice; the uncertain element as ever was Dean Winchester. There’s just no planning for some things, the best you can do is hang on tight and be ready to teleport out when it all goes pear shaped.

Dean had looked around the bar and decided he would pay good money to never find out what was causing his feet to stick to the floor and there was no way he was going to drink anything served here. Crowley had settled at a table that gave him a good view of the room and let him keep his back to the wall. Dean leant against the cleanest bit of wall behind the table. His position put his face in to the shadows and he couldn’t help feeling like the hire muscle in some low budget mafia flick.

“Your contact picked this place to meet? Classy.”

“When you deal with scum you’re going to get a little dirty. I’ve seen some of the places you’ve drank in over the years, you must be feeling right at home here.”

There was no bite to his sass, Crowley was too busy looking out for his contact; the vampire was annoying as hell, but when you need blood for spell work there’s nobody better to deal with than a fang. Less than a minute later a white trash fang approached the table, and that’s when everything when crazy. The fang jutted his chin at Dean in a way he thought must have looked threatening rather than constipated.

“Crowley. What’s he doing here?”

“He’s with me, just here to do a little business.”

“What business could The King of Hell have with Dean Winchester?”

The music did stop this time and the glares that came their way were openly hostile. The silence that followed was broken by the sound of the bolts across the door being slid home. Crowley heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Go on then Dean. I know your arm’s been itching since we walked in here.”

Crowley pulled a hipflask out from inside his coat and watched as Dean let loose on the assembled fangs. It had always been a joy to watch Dean fight to kill; there was a bloody grace to his movements that couldn’t be taught. These days with the raw, unchecked rage of the Mark of Cain flowing through his demonic veins Dean had become something awesome. His movements were economical, but produced the greatest carnage. Dean’s natural tendencies had been honed by the First Blade to the point that killing was beyond art and into the realm of advanced mathematics where you could believe the secrets of the universe were on display in the choreography of Dean’s movements. Crowley shook himself from his poetical musing as the last body hit the floor; it took a second longer for the severed head to roll to a stop.

“It’s a good thing my contact wasn’t here, or this trip would have been a huge waste of time.”

Crowley walked through the puddles of blood on the floor as if they were nothing more than water. As he reached Dean’s side the hunter put a finger to his lips and lunged over the bar. With one hand he pulled the shaking barman over the counter top by the scruff of his neck and set him on his feet in front of the King of Hell.

“A human bar tender in a vampire pub? Inventory and server all in one fleshy package, I like it.”

Dean was eyeing the man curiously.

“Why aren’t you scared?”

The Knight of Hell’s voice was low and laden with danger. Crowley found himself wondering just how far Dean was willing to go here. Had he really gone so far down his demonic path that he’d be willing to kill a human? The barman licked his dry lips nervously and took a deep breath.

“Man, I am terrified, but the speed you can move there’s no point me running. I’ll just end up dying sweating and screaming. Eww, dude!”

The last words were aimed at Crowley, who personally thought sweating and screaming wasn’t a bad way to go, under the right circumstances of course. He gave the barman a shrug as Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I wasn’t even looking at you and I knew what you were thinking. No loose ends?”

“What’s he going to tell people? A crazy guy with black eyes killed the vampires I worked for? Please, no one will believe him. Let’s get out of here.”

There was a long tense pause during which Crowley was sure the barman stopped breathing. Dean tilted his head from side to side as he weighed up his options, there was something disturbingly reptilian about the slow movements. When he rapidly stowed the First Blade in his belt if felt like the air shattered.

“He’s not worth it. I want get some pizza while we’re in town. There’s a great place over on Fifth.”

With that Dean turned and headed out of the door. The barman collapsed to the floor as his legs went out for under him. Crowley looked down at him with some interest.

“You have no idea how lucky you’ve just been. Give me a call if you need anything in the future.”

Crowley dropped a business card by the man’s shaking hand and followed after Dean. As he reached the door the man asked;

“Who is he?”

Crowley grinned,

“The better question is what is he becoming?” And I don’t have the answer to that yet.”


End file.
